


Brace Yourself

by Kaname



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dentists, Hygienists, M/M, Meet-Cute, Snark, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:05:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaname/pseuds/Kaname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Standing in the doorway, wearing the most garish pair of banana scrubs that Louis had ever had the misfortune of seeing, was the most bloody gorgeous man he'd ever laid his eyes on. His hair was twisted into a messy bun of shiny, perfect curls; his thick lips curled up into a playful smile while a set of sparkling green eyes read through his folder.</p><p>'Hope you’ve not had trouble "filling" the time before the appointment, then,” the hygienist mused, smirking down at the file in his hands. His muscular forearms were blissfully exposed, a white undershirt rolled up to the elbows while a set of long, elegant fingers flipped leisurely through Louis’ x-rays. “Not that I mean to "drill" you about what you do with your free time, but it would be awfully "root" not to ask.'"</p><p>(Louis is a whiny arsehat who hates the dentist, and Harry is a hygientist with a pocket full of dental puns and a thing for petite men in poof-hats.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brace Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theseblueskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseblueskies/gifts).



> theseblueskies - your prompts were AMAZING! I had such a difficult time choosing which prompt to write. I actually think I may take on another of them as a pet project for the long term, we'll have to chat once everything's revealed. :)
> 
> Lastly; Thank you kindly to the exchange organizers! Your hard work doesn't go unnoticed.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

Louis hated the dentist.

Not in the traditional, impassionate, broader society sort of way; that hesitant, fearful kind of hate that most sane folks shared for the pointy metal tools, whirling drills and alien blue lights.

No, Louis hated the very _concept_ of the place.

Louis hated it on a fundamental, _spiritual_ level.

He hated the pastel scrubs the hygienists wore, covered in bits of toothpaste and cutesy clip art ripped straight out of Microsoft Word. He hated the little pictures of animals that you stared at while you were tipped back and orally violated, some dead-eyed woman with a ponytail and squeaky gloves molesting your molars with hooks and scrapers. He hated the stickers, and the floss, and the polish, and the magazines from three months past spread out in the waiting room, interspersed with crayons and tissues.

_It was all utter bollocks._

So of course Louis was in a right funk Monday morning, the prospect of a trip to his most dreaded place fresh on his mind while he aggressively scrambled a pair of freshly cracked eggs on his electric stovetop, dreaming nostalgically for the simple frustration of a day at the office.

Doing paperwork to set up bank accounts for twitchy teenagers and their thirty-five-dollar-a-week paychecks looked outstanding in light of recent events. Louis was sure if he skipped his appointment to go to work he would be making an impact on the world,  with his cheap wooden desk, terse smiles and free pens.

A lad could only dream.

And if this lad was dreaming of work, Louis supposed, it spoke to how utterly wretched he felt about going to 35 Tulip St, Office 204, with Doctors Malik and Horan and their staff of blithely cheerful idiots in glorified matching pyjamas.

Louis assumed it was a common sentiment.

But here he was anyway, suddenly conscious of every creak and twinge in his teeth while he made his same boring breakfast, convinced that those arseholes and their toothy smiles would find a way to make him come back again and again for procedure after procedure and he’d be forced to relive the horror of the place for months.

Yet still, he was going to go.

Thanks for the ingrained sense of responsibility, mum.

“Louis, I can hear you grinding your teeth in abject anger from _across the room,”_ Liam piped in, shoving a spoonful of Raisin Bran into his mouth and sending Louis a look from over his book. His briefcase was carefully propped up against the leg of the table, and he was steadfastly avoiding dribbling milk on his freshly pressed suit. “Care to share why you’re cooking your eggs with the heat of your glare instead of trusting the stove to do the job?”

Louis blinked, then pointedly flipped on the switch and sent his roommate his simmering ‘Louis Tomlinson patent-pending look of disapproval.’ “It’s a statement?”

 That came out more like a question than he’d intended.

“About?”

Louis tucked a stray piece of brown hair behind his ear, frowning at his pan and grabbing the salt shaker from the counter. “…The patriarchy.”

Liam snorted and folded down the corner of his page before tipping the bowl to his lips and sucking up the extra milk from the bottom. “Nice try, Tommo. You’re just in a right mood because you think the dentist has it out for you. Which he doesn’t. In case you needed the reassurance. I spoke to Zayn at length about it yesterday.”

“It’s a fair assumption, _Liam,_ ” Louis sniffed, poking gingerly at the eggs with the edge of his spatula. “They all look like they’ve popped out of some creepy Midwestern American cult that worships smiles and floss. I don’t understand why you’re dating him. He probably brushes your teeth while you sleep.”

Liam didn’t even look up from his smartphone, which had suddenly appeared in the place of his book. “I brush my own teeth, thank you.”

Louis glared at his eggs for a few more seconds, running his tongue over his teeth. “Well, not all of us can have perfect teeth, Liam. They’re probably going to force me to get a root canal or a bridge or something equally as painful and costly.”

Liam strode over to the kitchenette and put his bowl in the sink, giving Louis an exasperated look. “I don’t have perfect teeth, Lou. And I’m sure your teeth are fine. Top notch, even.”

“You did an ad for toothpaste in your teens. If any lad has perfect teeth, it’s you, you knob. I have to set an alarm so I’ll remember to brush mine at night.”

Liam sighed and snatched his briefcase from its spot on the floor. “Just try not to make it into more of a thing than it is, alright? I don’t want questions from Zayn about why you assaulted a perfectly nice hygienist with a sharpened toothbrush handle at dinner tonight.”

“No promises. You may want to warn your new _boyfriend_ that I bite,” Louis chirped into the whirling stovetop fan, while Liam checked his watch and grabbed his keys.

“Christ, Lou. You’re ridiculous.” Liam sighed over his shoulder, the door closing a split second later.

Louis switched off the stove, slid his eggs out onto a plate, and sat down next to Liam’s abandoned book, angstily stabbing at them with a fork and flipping absently through his Facebook notifications.

This was going to suck.

 

This did, in fact, suck.

Actually, it could not be an iota worse than it already was, and he hadn’t even left the lobby yet.

Louis sat stiffly in the waiting room for at least twenty minutes, surrounded by crying children and pissy, Liam-esque businesspeople, before a petite brunette girl in pink scrubs finally called him back.

He threw down the magazine he’d been half-heartedly reading and shuffled reluctantly along after her, his hands fisted deep in his trouser pockets. The girl chewed her lip silently the entire way back rather than making awkward small talk, and Louis silently thanked whatever deity was watching over this hellish building for sparing him _that_.

Still, blessed by the gods or nay, Louis was 5 feet 6 inches of pouty tension that would not uncoil. He wasn’t going to pretend to be anything other than unenthused by the prospect of pointy metal and bleeding gums.

The girl wordlessly dropped him off in the back hallway, and he scanned the room he’d been deposited in, shifting uncomfortably as he sat in plastic chair and eventually settling on staring at the ceiling with thinly veiled aggravation.

“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson!”

Louis froze, the sound of a deep, masculine voice ringing around the tiny room with piercing clarity.

God fucking dammit _,_ this was most definitely not his usual hygienist.

Now he was actually going to feel like an arsehole when he glared at him the entire time and made snide comments about his technique between oral assaults.

He never had to worry about this with Helen. That woman was made of stone and sarcasm.

“Hello, then,” Louis eventually managed, _eloquently_ , craning his neck back and widening his eyes to get a better look at the lad.

Oh _shite_.

Shite, shite, motherfucking _shite._

Standing in the doorway, wearing the most garish pair of banana scrubs that Louis had ever had the misfortune of seeing, was the most bloody gorgeous man he'd ever laid his eyes on. His hair was twisted into a messy bun of shiny, perfect curls; his thick lips curled up into a playful smile while a set of sparkling green eyes read through his folder.

“Hope you’ve not had trouble _filling_ the time before the appointment, then,” the hygienist mused, smirking down at the file in his hands. His muscular forearms were blissfully exposed, a white undershirt rolled up to the elbows while a set of long, elegant fingers flipped leisurely through Louis’ x-rays. “Not that I mean to _drill_ you about what you do with your free time, but it would be awfully _root_ not to ask.”

“Lord, _stop._ Those are terrible,” Louis groaned, before he could stop himself. Given the sort of vulgar thoughts those forearms inspired, he should be thankful he hadn’t blurted worse. He shook his head very slightly and took a breath. “You should really get some new material. I’ve heard better from my little sister, and she’s still in primary school.”

“Hmm, that’s no good, those are usually the crowd pleasers.” The man finally stepped through the doorway, tossing the file onto the counter and snapping on a pair of vibrant purple nitrile gloves. He gave Louis a bright smile. “But I see you’ll be a bit harder to please. I’m Harry, by the way, I’ll be your pilot this evening.”

“It’s 10 am and this is a dentist’s office.”

“You are a very literal man, Louis Tomlinson.” Harry took a paper bib out of a drawer and motioned for Louis to raise his head so he could clip it around his neck. “Fine, then. My name is Harry, and I will be scraping your teeth with sharp metal tools this morning. I will then, invariably, make a couple of vague noises of distress and call in Doctor Malik to give you terrible, and expensive, news. At which time we’ll polish your teeth with some facsimile of cookie-dough flavoured gritty polish, and then you’ll be on your way.”

Surprised, Louis actually cracked a smile at that. “I appreciate the honesty.”

Harry cocked his head to the side, switching on the lamp and clicking the little pedal that tipped his chair down. “You’re an odd duck, if that cynical little speech was what struck your fancy. Open.”

Louis couldn’t help himself. “I don’t even get dinner first?”

“Cute. Open wide, and you might.”

Louis snorted, and in a fit of one-upmanship that had long ago transcended work-appropriate, nearly unhinged his jaw.

Harry blinked, the tools going limp in his fingers for a fleeting moment. Then he cleared his throat and coughed into his elbow, righting the hook smoothly in his gloved fingers. “Right, then, I knew you were literal. I’ll just get to it,” Harry managed gruffly, peering with unparalleled focus into the back of Louis’ mouth.

Apparently Louis was wrong.

The dentist could get worse.

It was one thing to be uncomfortable. That he could handle, with a bit of whining.

But staring up at an attractive hygienist while he scrapped eggs out of your molars, trying not to be aroused by the curvature of his strong jaw and the bobbing of his bulging Adam’s apple, all while he hummed the Rolling Stones? That was a special breed of hell.

What did he do to deserve this?

“So, Mr. Tomlinson, what is it you do for work?” Harry eventually asked, his nimble fingers lightly scraping the inside of Louis’ back right molars. He could taste the tangy iron of blood, and Harry frowned for a moment before a carefully applied pressure confirmed that there weren’t any cavities, just a bit of swelling.

Louis gave him a look and pointed at his very clearly occupied mouth. “I chan’t twalk.”

Harry grinned, handing him a small mint-green cup and pointing to the little sink beside the chair. “Go ahead and rinse first, then tell me.”

Louis swished it around for a bit, then spit it out inelegantly, watching the red-tinged water swirl slowly down the drain. “I manage a credit union downtown. It’s about as exciting as you’d expect. I sit around a lot.”

“I imagine that it’s thrilling.” Harry wiped off the tools with a piece of gauze, motioning for Louis to lie back down. “You get to hold huge stacks of cash, and stop bank robberies with your quick wit and barbed insults.”

“We’ve been robbed exactly zero times,” Louis said, then opened his mouth and stared expectantly up at Harry.

Harry winked. “Well, I’m impressed, regardless.” Before Louis had time to make it awkward, Harry set back to work on his mouth, poking delicately at the tops of his teeth until, on the last incisor, his face dropped. “Oh.”

Louis groaned while Harry delicately drew the tool back. “Oh? I don’t like that. Take that back. Tell me my teeth are perfect, just like the rest of me.”

But Harry bit his lip and rose from his stool, one hand absently searching the counter behind him for Louis’ folder while he levelled Louis with a stern stare. “That’s a bad one, yeah? Have you had any discomfort on that side, eating or drinking?”

“Well, yeah, but I figured it was just sensitive. A bit on the tetchy side.”

“It’s not just sensitive, I’m afraid.” Harry finally managed to get Louis’ folder, having never even turned around, and flipped through his x-rays one more time. “Dunno how I missed that the first time, but it doesn’t look good. You’ll have to come see us again.”

Louis groaned, and Dr. Malik stepped through the door, a faint smile on his face.

“Good to see you, Louis. Harry, what’s the prognosis?”

Louis was going in for a root canal this morning.

_A root canal._

Everything was awful.

“I told you this would happen, Liam,” Louis barked into his phone, slamming out of his car and into the dreary gray London air. He pulled his jumper tighter around his body, steadfastly refusing to give the weather the satisfaction of seeing Louis Tomlinson shiver.

His small hands were bundled in a pair of hand-knit mittens that his mum had made him last Christmas, a poof-ball hat perched atop his damp hair while he trudged through the parking lot of the drab office building. “I’ll tell your boyfriend you say hello when he’s cutting my mouth open.”

“Please do!” Liam answered cheerfully. A bit too cheerfully if you asked Louis, which Liam rarely did, and likely never would. “Cheers, Lou. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight, Satan. Buy me some applesauce at the grocer!”

Louis hastily hung up before Liam could protest, stuffing his neon green phone in his front pocket and sullenly checking in with the receptionist, pulling off his soggy mittens and stuffing them in his jumper pockets.

This time Louis only got stuck in the waiting room for a few minutes, his winter garb in a haphazard pile on the seat beside him. But his heart was hammering away at an impossible speed, from the anticipation of what it was difficult to tell, and Louis had still anxiously checked his watch at least three or four times in the five minutes it took the petite brunette to call his name.

He was shown back to the same room he was in last time, and Louis was good and prepared to have a long tantrum on his own, flopping over into the plastic chair melodramatically, but this time Harry was only moments behind, wearing a pair of kitschy scrubs covered in pink leopard spots.

He offered Louis a sweet smile and a small stuffed lion, setting it in the crook of his neck and shoulder and chuckling when Louis almost dropped it in surprise.

Louis was speechless.

Harry’s eyes were particularly bright this morning, hypnotic almost, and were shining with the sort of mischief that always got Louis all hot and bothered. Louis gave him a questioning look.

“We give it to all the little ones who get surgery,” Harry explained with a smirk.

Louis snorted, his gut flooding with an unusual combination of warmth and indignation. “Height jokes. How original.”

Harry ventured a quick glance behind himself, then sat on the stool beside Louis chair and gingerly stretched out Louis’ arm. Then he plucked a marker out of his shirt pocket and winked conspiratorially. “Now shush, you, and cooperate so I can do this before Dr. Malik gets in here."

Louis’ stomach dropped as Harry popped the cap off the marker with his teeth, drawing a string of digits on the inside of Louis’ tender wrist. “This may be the last time we get you in here, if your aversion to my excellent dental puns is any indication, so here, here’s my number. Gimme a call, yeah? We’ll get breakfast sometime.” Harry met his eyes, and any misconstruing of his meaning was immediately crushed by what he saw there, their gazes crashing and locking together.

“Anytime, Louis," Harry said seriously, his voice low and seductive.

It was the first time Harry had used his first name.

And as hard as he tried, Louis found it very hard not to grin like a bloody idiot after that, even when Dr. Malik came roaring in with a very excitable Dr. Horan right behind him, brandishing several pieces of medieval looking dental equipment and a needle longer than Louis’ thumb.

“Harry, can you prep the patient for the procedure, please?” Zayn murmured quietly, and Harry gave Louis an impish grin that made the prospect of a root canal far less terrifying than it had been just moments earlier.

“’Course, it’d be my pleasure.”

To his credit, Louis had waited a full two days before he called Harry.

Likely because he slept the rest of the day Tuesday, his mouth throbbing and temper sour, but days were days, no matter the reason.

So, when he told the entire story to Liam on Thursday, just a few minutes after he’d giddily scheduled a morning date with Harry at the little pâtisserie downtown next to his credit union, he was pretty proud.

It had been two days since the most gorgeous man Louis’d ever seen had given him his number, and Louis was incredibly resilient and clever for waiting this long, if he did say so himself.

Liam snorted as soon as Louis had finished his story, his legs tucked up underneath him on their beaten up old couch while he drank a cup of hot, sweet tea and half-watched highlights from the Manchester game. “Lou, that first day doesn’t even count. You spent Tuesday sleeping and eating applesauce out of the jar.”

“It most certainly counts, Liam! You’ve never seen this guy, he’s so bloody good-looking, it’s almost inhuman.”

Liam rolled his eyes, shifting his mug to one hand and tugging the woven blanket off the back of the couch and around his broad shoulders with the other. “I’ve met Harry, Lou. He’s one of two or three hygienists in the entire practice. What do you think I do when I go to the dentist?”

“Blow Zayn in the back and weasel your way out of a checkup?” Louis tried, blinking owlishly.

Liam flushed, then glared over the rim of his mug and threw a couch pillow at Louis’ head with his free hand. “I actually care about the health of my teeth, Louis. So no, I don’t try to ‘weasel’ my way out of cleanings. And neither should you.” Liam sighed loudly, took a sip of his tea, and looked back up at Louis, his mouth curling into a fond smile.

“Now, tell me, where did you say you taking Harry for breakfast?”

**_Three Years Later_ **

“Hurry, Lou, we’ve already checked you in. He should be back there any minute now, and you’re still fixing your bloody hair!” Zayn moaned, his voice sounding stressed and clipped, yet somehow still managing to be gentle and reassuring.

“Hurrying!” Louis answered tersely, and Zayn shut the door with an exhausted sigh, his white coat swinging behind him a bit like a cape.

Louis chest constricted while he checked his reflection in the office’s tiny employee bathroom mirror one last time, his smart suit-coat making it even harder than usual to breathe.

Not that the velvet box in his jacket pocket was making it any easier.

“You can do this, Louis,” he said sternly to his reflection, and he examined the crown on his right incisor with a soft smile. “For him, you can do this. Harry deserves perfection, you twat, and panic attacks would most certainly not fit the bill, thank you very much.”

With one last deep breath he flipped off the light and began the short, but potent walk to the room on the far left in the back hallway. He stopped just inside the doorway, paused to take one last look around the room, then sat gingerly on the edge of the plastic chair, his foot tapping away nervously on the linoleum floor.

“Louis?” He heard from the door, and the reality of the situation crashed around him like a wave, his already delicate heart pounding so fast it may actually burst. “What are you doing here? You just had your six month cleaning last week. Since when do you voluntarily take an extra trip to the dentist, love?”

A thousand instances of quick trips to the office to drop off flowers, chocolates, and notes flashed through his mind.

_Since I met you._

Louis looked up, months of anxiety pressing down heavily on his chest.

But when he saw Harry, that fear, that uncertainty that Louis had felt so pressingly just moments before, was gone. Gone and replaced by ease and comfort. And God, everything was suddenly so clear and sharp.

In the presence of Harry’s wild curls, his radiant eyes, his parted lips and curled fingers, Louis felt whole.

And Christ, it just seemed right that he was wearing those god-awful banana scrubs, too.

“Harry,” he began, and as he stood, he saw something in Harry’s posture shift. The clipboard Harry’d been holding clattered to the floor, and that gorgeous mouth parted with a quiet gasp as he took in Louis’ suit and expression. “For three years, I’ve had the amazing privilege of getting to know you. Of getting to love, and be loved, by you.”

“No way, Lou. No way,” Harry whispered softy, and Louis swept forward to steady Harry’s trembling hands with a kiss to his palms.

“But before even that,” he managed against Harry’s skin, the words just barely catching in the back of his throat. He looked up. “I had the honor of being your patient. Which is why I wanted to do this here.”

Harry’s eyes, glistening with unexpressed tears, widened just barely as Louis gracefully got down on one knee, his hand already fishing through his pocket and coming out with a soft, dark blue velvet box.

“Harry Edward Styles,” he said, and it was a fucking miracle that his voice didn’t crack the way it had when he’d practiced it in the mirror dozens of times before this. “You are the most selfless, caring, warm and tender man I have ever had the amazing fortune to meet. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re _patient._ But more than that, than all of that, you’re the only person I’ve ever imagined, ever _wanted,_  to spend the rest of my life with.”

Louis grinned, popping the box open with his thumb and meeting Harry’s bright eyes. “Harry,” he breathed, and the moment suspended itself, his throat burning.

He exhaled.

“Will you marry me?”

Harry sucked in a veritable hurricane of air, his eyes wide and disbelieving, flickering between Louis’ face and the ring.

Then the moment broke and Harry’s face split into an enormous smile. He dove forward to wrap himself around a still crouching Louis. “Of fucking course, Lou! Oh my _God,_ how could you surprise me at work like this, you arsehole! I look ridiculous! I’m covered in toothpaste and cartoon bananas.”

He saw Niall, Liam, and Zayn peer in from the doorway, their phones snapping quiet pictures, and he buried his face in Harry’s neck, pressing soft kisses at the edge of his jaw. He pulled back and took in his _fiancé,_ toothpaste, cartoons, fluoride stains and all.

“You look beautiful," he stated. Factually.

Harry laughed, then pulled Louis forward into a wholly work-inappropriate kiss, right there on the linoleum, his lips pliant and face teary.

“Get a room, you two,” Niall sniggered, walking into the examination room and snapping another picture.

Liam and Zayn followed not far behind, their hands wound together and phones away. Liam grinned, his eyebrow raised in challenge. “So, Lou, what do you think of the dentist now, hmm?”

Louis turned his gaze to Harry’s damp, swollen, red face and laughed.

There was nothing more beautiful than that face.

He smiled. “I absolutely love it here," he answered assuredly.

And he meant every word of it.


End file.
